


Things You Said

by tarachamblers



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, One Shot Collection, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarachamblers/pseuds/tarachamblers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>http://taraschambler.tumblr.com/post/147271181386/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a</p>
<p>A collection of Rosita x Tara drabbles based upon this meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Things You Said At 1AM

Even the longest days come to an end. Glenn, Maggie and Eugene were long gone from their apartment. The smell of pizza still lingered in the air. Clutter was strewn across their room in the most ridiculous of ways. Two depleted bottles clinked when a gust of wind came in through the window. The clock upon the wall rhythmically ticked. Both hands were past the twelve. 

The moon was almost entirely absent. In the impenetrable darkness, crickets chirped. While her lover was soundly asleep and snuggling her from behind, Rosita lay sleepless; lost deep in thought. Her eyes, half-lidded and drowsy, fought to stay open as her mind stumbled through a drunken labyrinth of thought. 

If she could pick any moment to live in forever, she reflected, it would be this one. Two protective arms curled around her, protecting her from anything outside their cocoon. Soft lips and a cute nose pressing absently against her neck, a permanent reminder someone loved her. The hot exhale of Tara’s breath against her skin every second, an oddly comforting sensation. Their fingers interlocked, a symbol of their connection. The constant ticking, it was not a dream.

The bed in which they slept was their heaven.

Rosita realised that for the first time, she felt loved unequivocally. Not a glancing blow of skepticism hit her. Even in her drunken state, Tara's love for her felt genuine. It was a feeling she had yet to experience in her life.

Abraham: She loved entirely, indisputably. She would have followed him to the ends of the Earth and beyond. He broke her heart and everything was on fire. Her eyes, her fingers, her cheeks. Humiliated and ashamed, she felt stupid for ever believing she was worth his time.

Spencer: He made her feel good and that was enough. He chased her around like a lost puppy and devoted time, affection and care to her. He looked at her with the most dreamy eyes. All she felt for him was pity; sympathy that he couldn't realise he deserved someone who was devoted to him too.

But everything had changed.

A content smile drearily pushed up the corners of Rosita’s mouth and she delicately pulled one of Tara’s hands up to her face and pressed a gentle kiss against the back of it. Then again, on the knuckle of Tara’s ring finger. Behind her, Tara stirred in her dreams, pulling Rosita closer into her chest. A warm chuckle, a flighty breath and an indistinct noise of happiness escaped Tara.

“I love you so much,” Rosita whispered against Tara’s soft skin, “I love you more than you could ever know.”

Tara was entirely still behind her. The warmth of her breath tickling the tangled wisps of hair at the back of Rosita’s neck stopped for several seconds. Then, a mouth trembled at the shell of her ear and a shaky voice responded, “You mean the world to me.”

Rosita didn’t doubt it.


	2. Things You Said Through Your Teeth

The silence that followed was deafening. A door was slammed so hard that a picture frame fell off of the wall, crashing into a heap on the floor and shattering. In his exit, his footsteps crashed heavily, vibrating the entire house.

“I’ll get it.” Tara said. Tentatively, she circumvented her crying best friend, who just as broken as the frame. Rosita’s knees were hugged up to her chest and her face tucked between them, as if it would hide her apparent devastation.

She retrieved the destroyed frame and the and tipped the shards into an ashtray. She untucked the picture from the ruined display and placed it on the table, one finger scratching the dog-eared edge.

A cigar, half-lit, lay idle amongst the glass. Scooping it up, Tara wrapped her lips around the damp end and inhaled heavily. She held the smoke inside, letting the burn swirl before she coughed it out. It was stale. All the while, she glared at the picture: A polaroid, taken on Aaron’s camera. Rosita had always been interested in photography but never pursued it before everything happened. Aaron had loaned her the camera indefinitely. She proceeded to take pictures of everyone and everything she came across.

Most of Rosita’s pictures were around the house. Two, usually three, lined the wall. Each was a picture of her and someone else: Abraham, Maggie, Glenn. The former was now upon the table, the casing destroyed. Tara lingered over the picture.

He was staring into the camera, as dogmatic and serious as ever, while she pressed a smiling kiss against his cheek and cupped his chin in her soft hand.

At the bottom, Rosita had inked her and Abraham’s initials and drawn a heart around the letters.

Rosita pulled herself to her feet and snatched the cigar from Tara’s grasp. She jammed it between her lips and inhaled massively. The embers at the end sparkled orange and yellow and Rosita, without a flicker revealing her disgust at the taste, exhaled all the thick white smoke out the corner of her mouth.

Then, she drove the aflame end into her face on the polaroid. Droplets fell from her eyes onto the ash as she twisted it back and forth, burning straight through her smiling profile and onto the table beneath. Tara grabbed the cigar back and threw it into the ashtray.

“What the hell?” she yelled. Rosita returned to her position on the floor and wiped her eyes with the palms of her sweater. Tara picked up the picture and shook it to clear the ash. Rosita’s face was entirely cremated, only the edge of her jaw visible. The rest was a gaping hole - like a gunshot.

“It’s better without me in it."

"If any face deserves to be destroyed, it's his!" Tara spat through her teeth. She reached for the cigar and held it over Abraham's emotionless face. Her face flushed with anger.

“Don’t.”

Tara froze. Sizzling flakes dripped onto his nose.

“Don’t take his face out. Please.”

“You’ll destroy yourself but leave him intact? He’s the one who just walked out on you!” A loud thud shuddered the whole house from above. Neither girl looked up.

“I know that!” Rosita screeched.

“So why take it out on yourself?” she asked, moving towards Rosita. She recoiled, turning away and moving to the window. The sunset's orange glow illuminated her face in the otherwise dark room.

“Because he’s all I have and I don’t want to lose him!” she yelled. Tara closed the remainder of the gap between them affectionately reached out for her shoulder. Rosita flinched a little with a sob, “He’s all I _had_.”

Tara cupped Rosita’s chin the same way she had to Abraham in the picture. Gently, she guided her jaw so Rosita was facing her. Their gazes locked. Bleary met reassuring. Sad met hopeful.

“He isn’t all you have. Not by a long shot.”

Tara stared at her like she was the grand exhibit in the art gallery. Something melted within Rosita’s chest.

They broke their gaze, finally. Tara cleared her throat, turned away and scratched the back of her neck. “You have Glenn and Maggie, Eugene, Michonne, Sasha… me.”

“I do.” Rosita’s eyes flitted to Tara’s lips.

“You do.”

Rosita’s tears stopped dripping. A smile danced across her mouth unexpectedly. Her hand quickly concealed it and Tara delicately took Rosita’s hand in her own. Her thumb caressed across Rosita’s knuckles and they linked fingers.

“I’ll always have you.”

Underneath the table, the polaroid camera went off.


	3. Things You Said Too Quietly

One of the unavoidable realities of the world is that everything is impermanent. Structures collapse, nature grows and people change. All of these changes take time. Over a period of time, however long, they transformed into something else: rubble to a majestic palace, a sapling to a wise oak tree, an infant to an adult.

None of these cause great shock or alarm. They occur gradually.

The peace Alexandria was experiencing on a warm Tuesday afternoon, with the sun peeking around the clouds like an excitable child during hide and seek, was impermanent. Its change was far from gradual.

The screams of Alexandria’s citizens tore through the sweet, sing-song chirping of the birds resting on branches outside. The animals silenced when staccato rifle gunfire joined the fray. A loud crash preceded an endless, high volume air-horn.

In the space of three seconds, Tara’s contented and relaxed ribbing of Eugene transformed into sheer, heart-palpitating panic. She stood at the window, trying to determine what was going on. Her hand curled around her sidearm.

“Holly!” the doctor cried.

Rosita and Aaron burst through the door. In their arms, they carried a tarnished beauty: her abdomen spilled with red around where she’d been stabbed, her exposed clavicle was shiny with sweat, her skin pale as a ghost. Eric followed up the rear, shaking rifle jammed into his shoulder-blade.

“We need the operating table prepped. She’s lost a lot of blood.” Rosita barked as she and Aaron moved in tandem, supporting Holly between them.  Some of her blood had spilled over Rosita’s face, arms and clothes. Her eyes screamed with war. “Come on, come on. Come on!”

Denise wordlessly followed Rosita’s militaristic orders. Tara dashed forward, wrapping both arms around Holly’s legs to set her down on the table. “How many people are out there?!” she cried. Rosita made eye contact with Tara. A wordless acknowledgement was shared between them: it was bad.

“I don’t know, there’s a lot.” Aaron answered, stumbling over himself. His forehead, too, was streaked with Holly’s blood. In the chaos, Tara barely noticed the glazed look in his eyes.

“Rosita, you know how to stick an IV?”

“I’m on it. Hand me the tape.”

Everyone in the room except Eugene moved with amazing efficiency to collect medical supplies. Tara fished two half-full saline bags out of a cabinet and hang them over the IV pole Aaron had pushed up against the table. Rosita jammed an IV into Holly’s hand and secured it with tape Eric threw to her.

“What about the air horn? What’s happening?” Tara cried out. The constant sound was not one you could become used to. The panic had yet to subside but an innate sense of protection and bravery was replacing its overpowering sensation.

“I don’t know!” was Aaron’s only response. Then, he turned to his husband, “I have to help. I have to try,” his face dripped with sweat and guilt. Eric’s acceptance wasn’t reluctant but the thought brought him no joy. With pursed lips, he nodded his head and whispered “I know.”

Rosita pushed straggles of hair out of her face. “Denise, I’m gonna have to go too.” It was not a command nor a question. She drew her revolver and loaded it with loose bullets from her pocket.

Tara turned to Denise with blind terror in her eyes. Tara knew better than almost anyone that, in this world, any goodbye could be your last. In Denise’s eyes, she could almost see the faces of Meghan, Lilly, Alisha and her father.

Her last conversation with each of them rang through her ears: a declaration that she would be okay, a boast that they’d be safe soon, crying that she was wrong, a whisper that she loved them.

No one else was joining that list. She refused. “So do I.”

“You got dizzy swinging a hammer, somebody’s got to guard this place!” Denise protested.

Tara shook her head, determined that she was leaving. “You can handle--”

“I can’t!” The fear in Denise’s eyes chipped away at a wall in Tara. It was selfish, what she was trying to do; leave Denise, Eugene and Holly in certain danger just so she didn’t lose anyone she cared about.

A conversation transpired between Rosita, Aaron and Eugene. All of the noise Tara heard was ripped away and she wondered if, maybe, sometimes it’s right to be selfish.

Footfalls tore her out of her comforting isolation. Rosita and Aaron sprinted towards the door, weapons drawn and prepared to rain hell on whoever was stupid enough to threaten their home.

“Rosita.” Tara said. Rosita didn’t stop, “Please, be careful.” but it did not matter what she said. Her lithe figure had passed the doorframe and within seconds was completely out of sight. Seconds later, an attacker collapsed on the porch outside following a loud revolver shot, his brain leaking out of his head.

The sight drained any panic that was left from her. Her skin became taut like a barrier. Tara drew her pistol and kicked the door shut, standing four paces back from it and aimed the two notches atop her Smith & Wesson directly at the door. She'd defend this place with her life if it came to it, but it was not what was inside the infirmary she truly wished to protect.

**

The sun had set and pink dusk kissed the houses of Alexandria. Blood and tears flooded the streets of their community. Every single attacker lay butchered. Some bodies had been cleared but as daylight burned it fast became an issue for tomorrow.

She wondered why it was that Rosita did not stop moving. Simply, did she not hear her? Did she value protecting Alexandria as soon as she can over one last conversation with her best friend? Did the idea of having to deal with the finality of the ‘if we don’t make it’ speech scare her too much?

Tara knew none of these things were blameworthy on Rosita’s part. It was easier when the final conversation you have with someone was just a regular talk. No poignant finality. Just real life. The last they’d spoke before that afternoon was Tara telling Rosita her hair looked pretty at breakfast. That reflected the reality of their relationship far more than a sentimental speech as one headed off into battle.

She wished secretly for the longest time that her last conversation with Alisha had been something just like that.

Across the room, she looked up and saw Rosita curled up in a ball on a comfortable chair that was far bigger than she. A blanket was over her knees and she looked to be fighting sleep. They made eye contact for a brief moment. Though the danger of the day had long since subsided, the intensity of battle and danger never once alleviated from Rosita’s expression.

And maybe it was just then that it clicked: nose-deep in some unfulfilling, ancient gossip magazine, daydreaming about and staring at Rosita. She had considered Alisha an equal to Rosita in her life. She thought of them both in the same context. Her girlfriend and her best friend.

Tara didn’t want Rosita to die. She was willing to leave that infirmary unprotected if it meant she could try to safeguard her survival. Her love for her, whether it was platonic or otherwise, surpassed her instincts of protection.

Everything is impermanent. Gradual changes should not come as a surprise, but had the change truly been gradual if she’d come to know of it all at once? Not only her feelings, but her innate altruism too. An in-between stage of growth and maturity.  

A love that made a selfless woman selfish is a true love, indeed.


End file.
